


Far and Few Between

by DanelleSepthon



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: 10 Luck Courier, A lot of dudes being dudes, Adventure, Brief Mentions of Offscreen Rape, Camping, Chem Addiction, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time Sex, Gambling, Graphic Violence, I apologize in advance, Injury Recovery, M/M, More tags will likely need to be added, Panic Attacks, Quest Adaptations, Real Slowly, Romance, Sleeping Under The Stars, Slow Burn, Todd will drop the bombs real time before these losers even hold hands, but nothing more extreme, i mean like, mental issues, super slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 12:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18315359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanelleSepthon/pseuds/DanelleSepthon
Summary: Real love in the Mojave is like a sweet oasis, but Arcade has to question if his feelings are more like a mirage. (Arcade meets the courier, a Med-X addicted wreck, and gets roped into being his companion.)





	Far and Few Between

When he was younger, Arcade always had a fondness for hopeless romanticism. Though age had taught him the impracticality of it, sometimes on cool New Vegas nights his mind would wander away from staunch realism and fall back to old stories from pre-war books he’d read as younger man. Gatsby’s extravagance, Mr. Darcy’s gentle brand of love, different world’s made of carefully constructed metaphors and classical beauty. In his own world of dusty ruins and gunfire, such bliss was nonexistent, childish to even consider. It made him feel a bit guilty to even consider such nonsensical romance. Men and women were bleeding and dying out in the desert as he struggled to sleep. Still, was there harm in wishing? He kept his personal daydreams well and good away from his professional obligations. With everything he had been through in his life, perhaps that was his consolation: the right to be a hopeless romantic without the guilt of being  _ too _ hopeful. How depressing.

From inside his tent in the Old Mormon Fort, Arcade lay back with his eyes closed, wide awake as he brooded on the whole misfortune of the world. Quite the heavy subject for a late night ponder, of course, but such was the way of the Wastes. The previous day had been filled with more crowds of nameless junkies dragging themselves in to be treated only to go out and get high again right after. That wasn’t even mentioning the frequent victims of gun violence and occasional illnesses that came in all the time. Even as just a researcher, seeing that kind of thing everyday weighed heavy. There was always something to keep a Wasteland doctor up at night, reminding him of harsh, cold reality of the apocalypse they faced.

In fact, around three a.m. that night, Julie Farkas barged in, calling Arcade to face down one such reminder.

“Get up!” She cried over the commotion happening outside the tent. “Come on, ‘Cade! We need your help.”

“Wha- What’s up?” Arcade pulled himself off his cot in a fading daze. Someone screamed the word ‘NO’ outside, followed by a more gravelly sound voice cursing loudly. “Sounds like the guards are having fun.”

Julie scoffed at him as he grabbed his coat. “Some Kings just dragged in a guy they say is strung out. He was fine till we tried to look at him, but now he’s going crazy, attacking the guards. We need to sedate him and I need all hands on deck.”

He only rolled his eyes as he fixed his glasses and headed out with her. This wasn’t the first Freeside junkie to go nuts, wouldn’t be the last either. Hopefully, though, he would have no need for the plasma gun strapped to the inside of his coat, because  _ that _ would be a terrible first.

Three people were struggling to hold down a surprisingly small male. How such a tiny guy was putting up such a savage fight while clearly weakened, Arcade couldn’t tell. At a glance, though, he could tell that the guy was extremely panicked, shouting grumbled curses at those holding him into the dirt.

“ _ Fuck you! _ ” The man screamed as he kicked Beatrix Russell in the chest, sending her flying backwards a good few feet. “ _ Fuck all of you! Let me go!” _

“We are trying to help you! Asshole!” One of the other Followers wielded a syringe, likely filled with a some kind of sedative: Two Kings had the best hold on the stranger, struggling to keep him on his back on the ground. Beatrix, now quite pissed off, grabbed his feet firmly with a none-to-gentle grip.

Julie was quick to put herself back into the fray. She brushed past Arcade, adjusting her coat and properly climbing on top of him. “Help me keep his arms down, ‘Cade!”

“Here we go…” The doctor mumbled to himself before taking position in front of the man’s head to hold down his front. While his fellow Followers and the guards worked fast to prep the drug to knock him out, Arcade found himself locked eyes with their new patient.

He was a mess, dark circles under his eyes and dirt caked into every pore of his skin. Beneath the grime, he was a… sight to take in. His pupils were the size of dinner plates and he had what appeared to be a long, moderately fresh surgical scar running down the right side of his face and up. Around the scar, half of his hair had been shaved off and regrown into a choppy, mangled mess while the rest hung over his face in a dark brown wave. The guy was in light, metal armor that was in desperate need of repair with a ragged burlap cloak drawn around his neck and shoulders. In his sudden fascination, Arcade didn’t even notice that the stranger seemed to be examining him in equal turn.

In that moment of peace, Julie pressed the sedative into his wrist. The whole Fort took a collective breath as soon as Arcade slipped off and the man went still. The two Kings fell back, removing themselves quietly with a brief nod to the doctors while the guards hovered nearby.

“Okay. Damn, okay,” Julie stood back up, handing off the used syringe to a doctor. She shook her head and shoulders as if to remove some of the moment’s tension. “Alright. Let’s go. I want to put this guy in the research tent for the night. Better safe than sorry.”

Immediately the guards, apparently eager to get the man out of the way, went to “Wait. What?” Arcade almost stumbled as he stood, catching himself none too gracefully.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh calm down. He should be low maintenance at this point. I gave him enough to knock him out for a good long while, at least till tomorrow.”

“And what if he wakes up?”

With a laugh, she grabbed his shoulder as she began to wander back to her office. “I’d rather he tackle a plant then a patient, ‘Cade. Sorry, but you’re stuck with him.”

“That’s completely unreasonable,” he argued. “Don’t you think he should be thrown into the arms of someone better equipped to handle him?”

“Oh come on, Arcade. Don’t be so modest. “ Judging by the look on her face, nothing was going to sway her. “You are perfectly able to keep one drug addict in check. Plus, I haven’t seen you so interested in  _ anything _ for a long time. You were practically drooling just looking at him.”

At a loss, for words, Arcade stopped in his tracks, sputtering. The leader of the New Vegas Followers laughed right in his face.

“I-I don’t- I-I- _ I was startled! _ ” 

“Ya sure.” Julie smirked at him. “Look, consider this a one night experiment, hm? Something to keep you occupied.”

“Julie, please. I don’t think this is a great-”

Before he could argue any more she pointed back to his tent. “Oh look! They’ve already finished moving him. Good night!”

“ _ Julie no! _ ” 

But, she was gone and Arcade found himself lost in the middle of the Old Mormon Fort as it went back to its normal nightly routine. The Kings that brought in his new ‘roommate’ were both long gone and the other Followers of the Apocalypse were milling around doing their duties. 

The doctor ran a hand over his face, quietly removing his glasses to rub at scratched lenses with his coat sleeve. He must have looked strange, standing in the middle of the tents doing nothing, but he couldn’t help but be afraid to enter his own tent. God, what was he going to do with this mess?

Regardless of his personal misgivings, Arcade was first and foremost a rational being. He knew he’d need to go properly meet the stranger he’d just shared an embarrassingly emotional first encounter. Avoiding the situation would be impossible since he didn't have anywhere else to be and he couldn't just sit outside till morning. With that in mind, Arcade decided that, being as he was now properly awake and all, he might as well start some of his work early. Plants were boring, but much less problematic than random handsome strangers thrust into his living space.

A few hours went by with the fort going quiet and Arcade taking notes on the chemical reaction brought on by combining Nightstalker venom and a Radscorpion poison gland. Some locals claimed the two could be used to help reverse poisonings and from his previous experiments with the natural remedy, it had seemed to work on some level. The doctor had concerns of radiation damage that might come with using materials found in the wild untreated to make medicine. It was similar to the primitive healing powders some of the tribes had been using. If he could find a way to purify the mix then it might be workable as a reliable antivenom substitute.

All of that was very interesting and scientifically fascinating, yet still gut wrenchingly dull. It was almost a blessing mixed with a curse when Arcade heard a groan come from behind him later into the night.

“Ughhhh…” The stranger rolled himself over on the spare bed, weakly rubbing at his eyes. “Where am I?”

“You’re in Freeside,” Arcade said after a beat. He didn’t move or turn, hoping to look busier then he really was. “The Kings brought you to the Old Mormon Fort after they found you half dead in the middle of the road.”

“Oh,” he said dumbly. The guy took a deep breath as he blinked furiously to adjust to the light coming from Arcade’s desk. “I was coming back from… oh fuck where did I come from?”

“Well, we luckily don’t need your autobiography to treat an overdose.” It was rude, but it was also five in the morning. “You came in here kicking and screaming so we had to knock you out to administer some Fixer. It’s been a few hours but we weren’t expecting you to wake up for a while.”

“Ack. Of course,” he groaned.”God, my head is pounding.”

“Yeah, chem addiction can do that to a person.” Now that the guy was awake and in better control of himself, Arcade struggled not to find himself even more fascinated with their captive patient. The guy was calmer, looking around the tent as if still finding his bearings. He approached the bed after a moment, quickly taking his vitals just for something to do in the moment other than stand around. The man silently looked off as Arcade checked his pulse, which had returned to a more healthy pace.

“Your vitals seem to be going back to normal, though I’m still going to suggest you take it easy.” Arcade dropped his tanned wrist suddenly, going back to the table. “What chem were you taking?”

“Probably Med-X,” he groaned, falling back into the pillow. “Maybe a bit of Psycho at some point. It’s a bit fuzzy… Oh! I was coming back from Mojave Outpost.”

“What?”

The guy turned with a sudden bit of renewed energy. “I remember what I was doing. Before I, uh, went down. I was finishing up a job up at the Outpost and was heading back to Vegas to spend my hard earned caps, ha. Guess I got a bit carried away somewhere between points A and B.”

“Are you NCR?” Arcade couldn’t help the hesitance that snaked into his tone, but was glad it didn’t sound to remotely like unease.

“Nah. I’m just a courier.” He waved in a placating way, ironic considering he was tackling people only a few hours prior. “I, uh, deliver stuff. Used to be with the Mojave Express but I guess you could say I’m… freelancing now. A Wasteland wanderer by trade. Oh, my name’s Lucky, by the way. I should have said that earlier. Sorry.”

Arcade tried to focus back on his paperwork, avoiding his deep gaze. Knowing that their latest stray wasn’t a secret member of the NCR was reassuring to say the least. He didn’t really come across as a big faction type of guy anyway, at least based on appearances. The stranger was odd in every aspect it seemed. One could only hope no mother would be so cruel as to give a baby a dog’s name and, so Arcade assumed ‘Lucky’ it was a nickname of some kind. None of his business, in the end, but still another layer to the mystery.

“Charmed to meet you, despite the circumstances. I’d suggest you try and get some rest. I’m sure you’ll be crashed in the morning from whatever you took so you’ll need your strength. Just ignore me. I’m finishing up some work here but I’ll try to be quiet.”

“Ah. Well, you’re boring.” The courier mused to himself, looking up at the underside of the bunk. He crossed his legs and hummed at nothing, almost like he hadn’t just almost overdosed on painkillers a little while ago. Guy recovered quick, it would seem. “It is polite to introduce yourself in most civilized place, right? What do say? Entertain the dying?”

A witty rebuttal to dodge the question was between his teeth but the man’s damn sincere face caught it before he could shoot. He supposed a bit of conversation wouldn’t hurt (hopefully).

“Oh, if If I must,” he said, looking away. “I’m Arcade Gannon. I’m a researcher. You were being difficult so they decided to store you in my lonely tent of solitude back out of the way. I’m working on finding alternative ways to create medicines for when we inevitably run out of scavenged supplies. You know. Stimpacks out of barrel cacti and other fantastical improbabilities. That’s about it. I’m boring.”

“Come on. Don’t be so modest.” He laughed, low and deep. Compared to his earlier panicked state, it seemed that this more civil chatter put Lucky at ease. “Tell me about yourself. I got all day- er, night, I guess.”

He shot him the most  _ stupidly _ charming grin Arcade had ever seen. How could a stranger make him blush so easily? He wasn’t some teenager, yet he just barely concealed the color on his cheeks. The guy was so immediately charismatic, especially for a dirty looking junkie. He wasn’t particularly handsome in anyway, scars and stains coating him, but in only the short amount of time he’d been with him Arcade couldn’t help but see that this strange courier was… different. 

Logic and years of wasteland survival taught him that he should be wary of such silver tongues as they often had killer fangs. The white handled revolver Lucky had been packing showed warning enough. But maybe this once, he’d see fit to trust gut and dive.

“Oh, all right. I'm thirty-ish…” he said and went to his tools to find a dose of Addictol for his patient. “Well, late thirties. I was born... west of here. I was an only child and spent most of my time with my mother. My father died when I was young and I never got over it. Oh... and I like medicine and reading books about failed Pre-War socioeconomic policies. Right now, I'm sure you're asking yourself, ‘Why hasn't some lucky man scooped this bachelor off his feet?’ Like I said, I'm boring.”

Lucky listened attentively, arguably enraptured if Arcade wasn’t imagining things. “I don’t know. None of that sounded boring in my books.”

“I can guarantee that you could get better stories from a Freeside junkie.” Arcade turned back with a syringe in hand. “Have you ever snorted a sack of cazador venom- Actually don’t answer that.”

The laugh he received in return told enough on Lucky’s part. “You’re a funny guy, doc. I like your style. Tell me, though, why are the Followers keeping you back in an empty tent playing with weeds and taking care of unwanteds like myself?”

Arcade only shrugged, putting out his hand for the courier’s arm. With a brief wink and little smirk, Lucky gave the doctor his wrist and Arcade began to administer the drug. His patient hissed, but didn’t struggle.

“Not all Followers are ‘people persons.’” He said as he worked in the needle. “ Besides, someone needs to do research. I have no problem with Julie sticking me back here. Out of sight, out of mind. There are worse things one can be, though I do admit, it is a bit boring. I'm fine doing research back here, even if it is a bit dull... and pointless... and a complete waste of time.” The doctor found himself glancing over to his test tubes and various plants contemplatively, almost forgetting the curious wastelander he was treating. He quickly finished what was doing and removed himself. “Don't mind me. I'm just voicing my thoughts so they don't burrow out of my skull in a fit of abject despondency.”

“You certainly don’t sound very enthusiastic about your work here,” Lucky hummed, rubbing at his arm tiredly. He made motion to his makeshift lab set up. “You seem like a smart guy so there must be some value to your labors here. ”

“Hey, I'm enthusiastic about helping people,” he shrugged off-handedly. “But, nihil novi sub sole.”

The courier perked up a bit then, confused. “Nihil what?”

“Oh, sorry,” he corrected himself. “It means ‘ _ There’s nothing new under the sun _ .’ If agave and mesquite were that miraculous, the locals would have figured it out a few thousand years ago.”

“Hm… No offense,” the courier said nervously. “But where does a doctor learn Latin around here?” Lucky was giving him a look of suspicion that Arcade had grown used to as a Latin speaker in the Mojave. 

“Not from the Legion, if that's what you're getting at.” Of course that’s what he’s getting at. Idiot. Arcade scratched at an imaginary itch behind his ear before diverting. “Books. Sheet music. Gladiator movie holotapes. Bits and pieces here and there… The Followers have extensive libraries, but we all draw water from the same old well. Even Caesar.”

“Oh,” Lucky nodded, lips pursed in apparent thought. “Oh. That’s… pretty interesting. You seem like a real smart guy, doc. Good to see old knowledge being used for good once in a while out here.”

“Uh, thanks.” He noticed now that his patient was watching his work with careful, diligent intrigue, like he was a specimen himself to be examined.

Silence had filled the tent, only broken by the sound of the guards outside and the clinking of the test tubes Arcade toyed with. Lucky had receded into the bed, hands folded on his lap with his eyes half lidded. The doctor assumed his patient had finally succumbed back to the lull of his drugged sleep after a while and he began to doodle stars on his clipboard.

Lucky made a noise, though, that drew his attention back. He had turned his head back to face him with a contemplated expression in his dazed eyes. “Hey, doc? I got a question.”

“Okaaay…” Arcade lowered his pen. “Not like I have anything better to do I suppose. Just no more personal stuff okay? I’m sure you know what happened to the cat and all that.”

The courier chuckled and leaned his cheek on the pillow. “Nothing like that. I was just thinking: Would you like to get into some trouble? Why don’t you come with me?”

“What?” He blinked in confusion, wiping his hands off on his coat. That was… out of nowhere. Why would a wasteland drifter want him as any kind of travel companion. “ _ No offense _ , but why should I go anywhere with you?”

“Granted, I might not be the most… upright man in the Mojave, but you certainly seem like you need a good adventure and I am absolutely  _ full _ of good times. Plus, I tend to go around getting hurt a lot-” he pointed upward to the scar running through his hair line. “-and I might need a charming doctor to patch me up. I wouldn’t keep you out long and you’d get an in depth tour of Wastes via yours truly. You said it yourself, doc. You’re bored here and I am everything but boring. Come on. What do say?”

A breeze past through the tent, riding the wind and stealing away the last of any formality Arcade had been able to hold up. His mouth fell slack as he stared at the bizarre patient lain in front him of him with such a sincere smile. Who the  _ hell _ did this guy think he was, anyway? Coming into his life and offering to what? Just  _ sweep  _ him off his feet? The doctor mentally scolded himself for his use of words. He was…  _ whisking him away _ ? Still not great. If he didn’t stay sharp Arcade feared he might get attached. God, when he was dreaming of some great adventure he never imagine it would  _ actually _ happen. Seriously,  _ what was this? _

“Wow,” Arcade finally got out. “Pulling bullets out of a drifter is truly a noble step up from tending to the downtrodden of Freeside, but I think I'll pass. Sorry.”

Lucky looked up at him briefly, then sighed with a shrug in response, which annoyed Arcade quite a bit. He had just suggested he ditch his job and go off of on some kind of wild adventure with him. How could he go back to being so casual so fast?

“Maybe some other time, then,” he said with a smile as he closed his eyes again. “I think you’d be a swell guy to hang around, so I’ll make sure to remember you, Arcade Gannon.”

For all intended purposes, that was the end of their strange conversation. Arcade turned back to his late night work with a heavy mind while the courier sighed and quietly fell back to sleep. It was true that he had wanted a bit of something new to come into his life, but what kind of weird wild Wasteland luck would answer his wish with someone like Lucky? The doctor felt a headache creeping into his skull, wrapping around his brain tight and fierce like the courier’s strong, muscular arms-  _ OH MY GOD _

Arcade put his head in his hands and gave a pained groan. Jesus Christ, what was he doing. This guy was a chem addict, a filthy roamer who had literally fallen into his hands, and there he was  _ crushing on his patient _ . He was a grown ass man not some pre-teen child! He needed some rest, yeah, that would help. Clear his mind and help him get over whatever insane attraction he was feeling for this stranger. So he clumsily threw his work into their proper places before throwing himself onto bunk with an appropriate amount of drama. Before he’d been awake wondering on the subject of love with a hopeful air, but Arcade finally found rest on his side, facing away from the weirdo the universe had decided to give him. He fell asleep with a frown on his face, glasses still on his face.

In the morning, Arcade found Lucky’s bed empty, his patient having disappeared before he had woken up. All that remained as proof that the events of that night weren’t some dream was the black eye Beatrix was sporting and the Lucky 38 playing card he found on his desk.

**Author's Note:**

> TLDR? Arcade is existential and gets a reminder about how gay he is.
> 
> Thanks for sitting through this. It’s mostly just my self-indulgent Arcade/Courier shit since there isn’t nearly enough on this website of it to please me. I love reading other peoples OC Courier stories so I wanted to share mine as well. I hope you all enjoyed this little experiment because there might be more to come.


End file.
